


Honeypot

by oceaxe



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Dark Knight Rises
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fake Prostitution, M/M, Making Out, in that order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 17:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: It’s a dumb idea. It is a really, really dumb idea. Colossally dumb. The dumbness of the idea is as colossal as the target of it.In which John goes undercover as a hustler and gets much, much more than he bargained for. And incidentally, achieves more than one of his goals, although not in the way he was aiming for.





	Honeypot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkys_creature_feature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkys_creature_feature/gifts), [teacuphuman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/gifts).



> This was my assignment for the TDKR fest, which I had to drop out of due to life-related reasons. HOWEVER, I couldn't let this fic go unfinished because I loved the prompt so much! 
> 
> To pinkys_creature_feature, whose prompt "Who's really in charge?" was so tantalizing that it kept me writing past crippling self-doubt and severe deficits of inspiration, time and energy, and to teacuphuman for being such a great mod and also for her birthday!

It’s a dumb idea. It is a really, really dumb idea. Colossally dumb. The dumbness of the idea is as colossal as the target of it. 

Bane.

John blames the vice squad, really, for giving him the idea in the first place. Somehow they’d gotten wind of a rumor that Bane’s men were visiting Gotham’s red light district on a regular basis. 

Well, John is no stranger to going undercover. And at this rate, it looks like that's the only way he is going to find Bane.

As Nightwing, John has been cracking down on people on the fringes of Bane’s reassembled cartel. He’s set up several elaborate traps for his men, dropping the hammer on them in a way designed to make Bane to search for the gadfly biting his nose, to draw him out so John can exact revenge and justice. But his efforts haven’t produced any results, other than more prisoners for an already-burdened penal system. 

He isn’t any closer to Bane. 

What he’s really interested in, obviously, is the man himself. He’s spent so much time studying the tapes, interrogating former associates, scrolling through the data that Bruce had painstakingly accumulated on the League, that he feels almost like he knows the man now. 

He knows the way that Bane inflects his sentences to keep the listener off guard, never knowing what might come next. He knows the swagger of his huge body, the regal way he holds himself. He’s seen the damage his hands can do, and respects it in spite of himself. 

He hears that voice in his sleep now. He’s becoming anxious to hear it in real life.

So it comes to pass that after his other plans come to nothing, John seizes on the stupid, horrible idea to pose as rough trade and loiter the streets where Bane’s men have been sighted, despite some serious second-thoughts about both his chance of success and the purity of his motives. He’s wearing tight, torn jeans and a threadbare t-shirt. His hair curls loosely over his forehead and down his neck, as vigilantism leaves no time for regular buzzcuts. It’s embarrassing how young he looks like this, how vulnerable he feels. 

But it’s worth it. John has confirmed with the other sleazily-dressed young people on the street that Bane’s men have been coming around on the regular, sometimes fucking in the alleyway but more frequently escorting their whores elsewhere. Sometimes they don’t come back. 

John isn’t worried. He’s got enough training to take care of himself. It’s going to be worth the risk if he can just manage to find out where Bane is hiding. The rest of the plan will fall into place from there.

He slouches against the wall and waits. This is his third night here and he’s had plenty of time to get used to the fact that his brain is only too willing to serve up unlikely fantasies of being taken to Bane himself by his lackeys, for Bane’s personal use. If only that voice were less compelling. He has a powerful sensory hallucination, hearing the rumbling of that voice against his ear. He furiously fights off the image and tries to focus his mind and relax his body. 

Finally, fucking Christ, some of Bane’s goons come striding down the alleyway where John’s been freezing his ass off for what feels like hours. One of them fixes his striking blue gaze on John, taking him in from head to toe in a sweeping glance that is almost tangible in its thoroughness. 

He approaches, slow and deliberate like a prowling animal, coming to a halt next to John and leaning his shoulder against the gritty brick wall.

John allows his gaze to travel up and down the man, then says, “See something you like?” His voice sounds rougher than he thought it would. He means to sound coy but he sounds hungry instead.

The man puts his hand on John’s shoulder and pushes him off the wall slightly, into the alleyway. Shadows from the corner of his eye resolve into a hulking crew of thugs. John kicks himself for failing to notice their approach. He’s been too caught up in the hypnotizing stare of the League henchman. In seconds, he’s surrounded.

“You’re coming with us.”

“No, I’m not,” John barks out of instinct, finding himself fighting their hands off. He struggles to rein himself in - this is precisely why he’s here. He’s lucked out, in fact. They’re going to take him to their lair. He’s going to get fucked, but he’s going to get the info he needs to take down Bane. At last. 

He goes limp and lets himself be taken.

 

John would be proud of himself, if getting oneself kidnapped into sex slavery on purpose was something to be proud of. The blue-eyed man and his crew have tied John’s hands behind his back and covered his eyes, which is less than ideal, but he’s sure that once things get going, there will be an opportunity to lose the blindfold. The fact that he can’t quite imagine how that will happen is something he will just have to live with for the moment. 

He can tell by the tilt of the ground and the echoes of their feet that they are in a large concrete tunnel that leads down. The sewers, of course. There were too many twists and turns for him to mentally map exactly what entrance they’ve taken, unfortunately, but he has hope that once he’s escaped...however he’ll manage that...he’ll figure out how to find his way back here. 

The hands pushing and pulling on him jerk him to a halt and he stumbles. Someone is knocking on what sounds like a reinforced metal door.

“Enter.”

The voice. They’ve taken him to Bane. John’s heart constricts painfully as his breathing speeds up against his will. He knows his dick is responding to the situation but refuses to think about what that means. It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s here to get fucked. If he happens to enjoy certain aspects of that, well, so much the better. 

He’s hustled into the room and left with no further words spoken. John stands, feeling a trembling begin in his core as he waits for Bane to untie him. If he’s going to untie him. He has no idea what to do. When in doubt…

“So are you gonna fuck me or what?” he says, voice brash the way it always is when he’s in an unfamiliar situation. 

“Is that the question you think you need to ask right now?” Bane’s voice sounds darkly amused and strangely soft at the same time. John feels his approach and then large, warm hands release him first from the rope around his wrists and then from the blindfold, moving with gentle sureness. 

Words die in John’s throat as he blinks up at Bane, standing no more than two feet away. The man is a brick wall of muscle, towering over John, his mask as imposing as his bulk. John can smell him at this distance, and that more than anything drives home that this surreal scene is actually happening. 

“What—what do you want me to do?” 

“Whatever you like,” Bane says magnanimously. “Make yourself comfortable, my honored guest.”

John snorts at that. “I assume I won’t be getting paid for this.” 

Not for the first time, John wonders what’s wrong with him. Why can he never control his mouth? But it does seem like the kind of thing a reckless and probably drug-addled hustler would say in this situation, so he doubles down, cocking his hip to the side and glaring at Bane while his heart races. 

“Why would you assume that? I am not ungenerous with my consorts. I plan to compensate you handsomely, and in a currency that will suit your needs best. But we have business to complete first.” 

“I mean, your thugs did tie me up and abduct me without telling me where they were taking me. So sorry if I assumed you might have evil intentions.” 

Bane merely raises one eyebrow and stays maddeningly still, giving John no clue at all what’s expected of him.

“Yeah, so, anyway—how do you want it?” He starts undressing, trying to seem totally at ease, like he’s done this a million times with men as huge and as terrifying as the one looming within arm’s reach, who looks like he could snap John’s neck with his fucked-up pinky finger.

Bane doesn’t respond, but he watches John undress with clear interest. John does his best to free himself of his shitty clothes as gracefully as possible, finding himself wanting to put on a show, but the burning rush of humiliation makes his movements jerky and hesitant. 

“Are you afraid, little bird?” Bane asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“Of you?” John scoffs. “Why wouldn’t I be? Aren’t you the guy who had the bomb? At least you’re not bad to look at.” He blushes fiercely at the revealing comment. “You wanna do this on the bed or what?” 

He’s fully naked now, his cock half-hard and his chest and face flushed with shame, but he holds Bane’s gaze without wavering, trying to read in his eyes what will happen next. 

He knows he can handle it pretty rough—to be honest, he prefers it that way. If Bane wants to fuck him hard and fast and dirty, that won’t be a problem for him. At all. His problem, actually, is that the sex seems to be all he can think about, as if he actually came here for the purpose of getting fucked. John tries to refocus on his objective but the expectant atmosphere, the way the cool air of the room caresses his skin, the way Bane’s eyes are devouring his bare body, are making it impossible. How is he going to get any useful information out this situation? 

“I want you to tell me what should happen next.”

“You—what?” John struggles to parse what this means. 

Finally Bane moves, coming close enough that John can hear the rasping sound of the mask as it pumps—air?—through the metal tubes. Then something happens that is so utterly unexpected that the room seems to spin around John for a moment. 

Bane kneels.

“I want you to tell me what to do.”

A man like Bane would have to do a hell of a lot more than just kneel to look convincingly submissive, but he can’t think what else Bane might mean by this. John’s brain stutters to a halt. This cannot be what Bane wants from him. It’s too on the nose, for one thing. John is not that lucky. Not to mention that Bane, to put it mildly, does not seem like a sub. John’s dick, though, is taking this both literally and seriously, as it hardens quickly enough to make him dizzy.

“I don’t—you want me to order you around?” John says, trying to sound cocky but sounding husky instead. 

“Orders tend not to have question marks at the end, little bird. Tell me what to do.” 

Now, if that wasn’t an order, John doesn’t know what would be, but still he hesitates. He still can’t get a read on this situation and he really, really doesn’t want to make a wrong move.  
With an amused grunt, Bane sits back on his heels and meets John’s eyes. “Tell me to strip.” 

He stares Bane down and fights the urge to blink. “Strip.”

Bane rises, like a mountain out of the sea, and in one smooth movement divests himself of the longsleeved black t-shirt that had clung to his muscles in an extremely distracting way. The acre of flesh revealed is exponentially more distracting. John swallows convulsively as his mouth waters. 

Bane’s hands move to the waistband of his cargo pants and he efficiently undoes them, letting them drop to the floor. He is naked underneath and his cock juts out, proportionate to the rest of him; thick and rigid.

“Tell me to get on the bed.” 

John blinks, still focused on the erection that looks like it could knock over a horse. It might actually be the most amazing sight he’s ever seen. He feels faint with anticipation. “Get on the bed,” he says weakly. 

Bane doesn’t move, just blinks slowly at John over his horrible mask. 

“Get on the bed,” John says more firmly, straightening and widening his stance.

Bane makes a soft grunt of approval and moves to the bed, his huge body covering the bed from head to foot. Anyone else lying in that position would look vulnerable, but Bane still looks like a threat, his erection standing like a sentinel between thighs powerful enough to crush a man. John wants to straddle them. 

So he does. 

His dick is painfully hard and he semi-consciously grinds it against Bane’s thigh to relieve the pressure.

“Tell me to touch your erection,” Bane growls. 

“Touch my dick,” John says, voice dropping into his lowest register. 

Bane’s eyes widen and his cock twitches between John’s legs, bumping against John’s erection. Bane’s hands don’t move. 

“With your hands,” he clarifies. 

“A good dom should be specific about his requirements,” Bane says in a soft, amused voice as one giant hand reaches for John’s dick, enveloping it entirely.

“I’m not—ah—a dom,” John sighs as his eyes close without his conscious volition. His head tilts back and he rocks into the friction of that huge palm.

“You are right now,” Bane says. “I require you to be.” He strokes up and down with a driving but erratic rhythm. John bucks into it while he waits for Bane’s next instruction on what John should “order” Bane to do.

Or, he realizes, he maybe could just order that without the instruction, since it seems like Bane wants him to be in charge. As hard as that is to believe.

“Can I tell you what I want you to do?” John asks breathlessly, as Bane’s hand continues to work him over. 

Bane snorts, a weird metallic grating sound, and says, “I don’t know, little bird, can you?” He punctuates this with an almost painful squeeze at the base of John’s dick and only then does John realize how close he already is to coming. 

Humiliation causes a hectic flush on his chest. _Fuck this guy,_ he thinks with nearly-real bravado. _I’m going to dom the fuck out of him._

“You got lube?” John asks gruffly. Bane removes his hand from John’s cock but otherwise makes no response. “Go get the lube.” 

Something indefinable about the way Bane’s eyes shift expression makes it crystal clear that under the mask he’s smirking. He levers himself up on his elbows and makes to get up, so John finds himself scrambling off of him in an undignified way. 

Bane stalks across the room to a huge footlocker and rummages around in it, which puts John’s detective instincts on high alert. Surely if Bane had been expecting a whore to be delivered to his room, he’d have had the lube a little more accessible. But whatever. The sight of Bane in the nude crossing back to the bed, an industrial-sized bottle of slick in his hand, his huge cock swaying with each thudding step, puts a stop to John’s questioning. 

As Bane lowers himself on the bed again, John realizes he’s got a whole new conundrum to deal with. If Bane expects to be dommed, does that mean he wants John to fuck him? Bane hands John the bottle and settles on his back again, watching John avidly and with an air of challenge. A demon of perversity rises within John. Fuck Bane and fuck what he wants. Fuck what doms are supposed to do and fuck what whores are supposed to do. John’s going to do what he wants.

He pushes the lube back into Bane’s hand as he turns around and faces Bane’s cock, his ass in the air a foot away from Bane’s mask. He hears the inhalation echo around the room. 

“Open me up,” John says as firmly as he can. He watches Bane’s hand, powerful and long fingered, twitch beside him, then the bottle is passed under his chest as Bane’s left hand squirts an obscene quantity of clear goo on his right, which disappears from view. A hot surge of pure want bursts through John’s groin and he feels his cock throb and lurch, grazing Bane’s chest. 

One massive palm spreads his ass open as the lube is slathered down his crack. There is no pretense of finesse here. Bane’s hands are sure and swift, like the rough parody of justice he metes out in Gotham. The cool air hits the lube and makes John shiver. He suddenly wishes he’d ordered Bane to rim him, but quickly remembers why that’s not going to happen. 

One thick finger circles John’s hole before pressing in, too far and too fast. The burn of being stretched sings in John’s veins as he presses back on it, letting himself moan. The finger already deep inside him makes a broad circling motion, then a second finger squeezes in, barely edging past the tight ring. John breathes in through his nose, mastering the sensations as best he can, determined not to break from the very thing he demanded. 

The fingers crook up and his determination vanishes like a dream—he mewls keenly as Bane prods that secretive bundle of nerves, relentless as a fever dream. Soon he’s bucking on that giant hand, barely noticing when a third finger joins in. He’s hypnotized by the driving thrusts, watching Bane’s cock jerk and bounce with the rhythm of his hand. 

Time ceases to have meaning while John rides that hand wantonly, hearing Bane’s breathing speed up and turn ragged. Bane’s cock is still rock hard and he wants to take it in his mouth. His balls draw up as he’s drawn by the lodestar of his completion, rocking back and back to get more inside of him. 

The edges of John’s vision are whiting out and he feels a groan building in his throat, which turns into an indignant shout as Bane pulls his fingers out and his left hand throttles John’s dick again. 

John climbs off of Bane’s massive torso, that monster erection dragging along John’s stomach as he dismounts clumsily, and turns himself to face the man. He’s up on his knees, breathing hard and about to tell him off when Bane says, “Tell me to fuck you.”

John bristles at this reassertion of Bane’s will. 

“You’re not going to fuck me, I’m going to fuck _you_.” Bane’s eyes widen and then crinkle at the corners. He’s pleased. Well, he won’t be pleased when John turns this stupid game back around him.

He straddles Bane again, grinding lewdly against his cock and Bane utters a grunt, but it’s not enough for John. He wants him howling. He’s going to make this creature vulnerable if he has to rip himself a new one to achieve it. 

Something trips in his brain—vulnerable. Yes. That’s what he has to do. His eyes alight on the mask and a plan forms. John looks down between his legs. His cock is still mostly hard and getting harder by the second from looking at the contrast between his equipment and Bane’s. Uncut cocks are kind of John’s thing, and if he’s a size queen, so what. Most gay guys are. He’s hit the jackpot here, he thinks, as his hand grasps the shaft and pumps up and down experimentally, keeping an eye on what little he can see of Bane’s face. 

“Give me the lube,” John barks and watches with satisfaction as there is no hesitation in Bane’s swift, smooth movement. The lube is oily and thick and John smears it on Bane’s cock. Then he rears up over Bane’s torso and positions himself above the head, holding it in place behind him with one hand. The heat of arousal banks within him and his cock spurts a little precome. He catches Bane’s reaction to that, a swift widening of the eyes. Oh yeah. John’s got him where he wants him. 

Rubbing the head of Bane’s cock over his slick hole feels so good he thinks he might lose it. So he lowers himself enough to feel gravity pushing him down on the thick intrusion. He has to bear down to get the head to even start slipping in. The burn would be torture if not for the extensive fingering he’s just gotten. As it is, he has to continuously and consciously relax himself as he sinks down, his eyes rolling back in his head with the effort.

Once he’s got Bane firmly wedged inside him, he has to sit and just breathe for a moment. He’s stuffed more full than he’s used to—the crazy thought that Bane should leave the criminal underworld and become a mega porn-star crosses his mind as he wiggles to accommodate the girth of him.

As he slowly, slowly starts to move up and down, John keeps his focus on Bane’s face. He wishes he could see his reactions more clearly—there’s only so much information that can be gathered from someone’s eyes. No matter how riveting and expressive they are. 

His half-formed plan from earlier returns. The mask. It needs to come off. 

“Take off your mask.”

Bane’s eyes close, as if he’s in pain. John grinds against Bane’s groin, forcing his cock deep inside and circling. He’s panting and sweating like an animal.

“Why?” Bane grinds out. “Do you want to kiss me?” His voice is deeply sarcastic.

“I want to see your face when I make you come.” John doesn’t even have to try to make his face look slack with filthy desire. 

“You don’t want me to remove the mask,” Bane says. 

“Why not?” John says, rocking up and down and breathing in hard through his nose. His dick is hard as a rock, but he can’t come now. He grabs Bane’s wrist and puts his hand around the base of his cock. Bane squeezes it again, never breaking eye contact.

“The mask gives me a constant supply of nerve-suppressants and other drugs. If I take it off—”

“You’ll be in too much pain?” That’s what he’s hoping for, John tells himself. That’s what he wants. He will have to convince Bane it’s worth the risk, but if he can just get the fucking thing off, he might be able to overpower him somehow. 

“No, the effects will last long enough that I won’t be in agony, but it will increase my sensation. I will feel everything more. I might tear you apart.”

John doesn’t have to fake the way his eyes light up at that phrase. This is how he’ll get him. Yes. 

“Tear me apart.” 

He doubts there’s a shred of calculation in his expression, but just to make sure, he lets his eyes slide shut and moans as he rolls his hips hard. When he opens them, the mask is gone.

He’s thunderstruck. The mask does not hide hideous disfigurement, as he has always thought. 

 

He’s got a sort of wrecked beauty that is shocking in its unexpectedness. Bane was clearly once an incredibly handsome man. John knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it.

There are thick scars crossing his mouth and slicing up his cheek towards his eye, and they must have been dreadful to look at once. But they’re silvery and flat and though they warp the lines of his lips slightly, the true shape of his mouth is discernable. It’s gorgeous. 

“Maybe I do want to kiss you,” John says, and Bane thrusts up into him, hard. The intensity of it forces a groan out of John, who leans into it with his hands grabbing at Bane’s shoulders. His center of gravity shifts off Bane’s hips, allowing Bane to piston harder up into him, over and over. John’s head falls forward, resting on the juncture of Bane’s neck and shoulder. The scent of him, sweaty, spicy musk, completely consumes John’s senses. Before he knows it, he’s kissing the smooth, tangy skin under Bane’s ear. 

Bane turns his head, and their lips meet, wet and open. John gasps and opens his mouth wider, letting his tongue slip out to trace the plump lower lip grazing his own. When Bane’s tongue meets his, they both moan at the contact and the kiss quickly goes off the rails. 

Possibly—probably—because Bane doesn’t do this very often, he kisses like a drowning man. John’s lower face is covered with saliva and his lips feel half-bitten off but he couldn’t care less. This kind of no-holds-barred making out is exactly his jam, and he gives himself over to it completely.

Gradually the kissing turns back into fucking, only this time with them panting into each other’s mouths. Bane’s cock is so big and so much harder since the mask came off that it’s large enough to stimulate John’s prostate despite the position they’re in. John’s plans to disarm Bane have evaporated; he can barely remember why he asked him to take off the mask, he just knows he’s damn glad he did. 

Bane is pumping up into him relentlessly, his hands clamped down on John’s hips. A blinding orgasm approaches again and John staves it off in the same way as before, nearly sobbing in frustration but wanting this to keep going, wanting it to last forever.

When Bane pushes on his shoulders to get John to sit up, John remembers that he was supposed to watching for Bane to weaken without his medication. But that’s not happening, not at all. If anything, Bane only seems more powerful, more intense. With a few economical movements, he’s got John on his knees, rutting into him from behind like some kind of half-animal demigod and panting in his ear.

And then he’s grabbed John around his waist, sitting back on his heels with John sitting on his lap and pulled up against his chest. The way John’s cock bounces in this position, obscenely helpless, is erotic beyond belief. The sight of it causes his whole body to go limp in surrender, letting Bane have his way with his body, letting him have whatever he wants. What he wants is to kiss again; he forces John’s head around and sticks his tongue down his throat, growling and thrusting until John's poor overworked nervous system can't take anymore. He’s shouting into Bane’s mouth, jizzing all over his chest. Bane comes with a roar and a fierce bite to John's trapezius.

They collapse haphazardly to the bed and John blacks out for a moment. He comes back to himself as Bane leaves the bed, watching through a golden haze of satiety as he puts his pants and shirt back on, then dons the mask once more.

Reality slows trickles in, past the glow of satisfaction. John feels the slightest inkling that he’s fucked up past repair. The inkling has increased to a nauseating certainty by the time Bane is done rummaging around in his footlocked and returns to the bed with his hand held out to John.

“A gift for you, little bird,” he says, and John takes the object from his hand, perplexed to find an oddly shaped gadget in his palm. John just stares at it, trying to force his brain back online from that mind-melting orgasm.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” It isn't the question he means to ask, but it's one that's been pecking away at the back of his mind. 

“It is your name, isn’t it? Robin?”

John’s blood freezes solid. Bane knows who he is. He’s known the whole time.

“Don’t worry, Officer Blake. I have plans for us. Plans which will benefit you, and the whole city. For as long as you play my game.”

“What kind of plans?” 

“You must remember the bomb—you mentioned it before.” 

John feels a falling sensation in his gut. 

“There’s another bomb,” he finally says.

“Officer Blake, you truly are a gifted detective. Excellent deduction. Yes, we have obtained another bomb. And I have handed you the key to ensuring that it doesn’t go off.”

John looks at the device again, willing his brain to figure this out. He doesn’t want to ask Bane another clueless question. But he cannot for the life of him figure out what it is.

“It looks like a buttplug,” he says. 

“Again, I am most impressed. It is, in fact, a buttplug.”

John feels his face redden, which is just fucking absurd, considering their recent activities. His heart stutters in his chest as the ramifications cascade through his head. 

“I assume you want me to wear this,” he says mulishly. The truth is, being forced to a wear a buttplug is a frequent fantasy. Given, that usually the fantasy includes a leather-daddy type who, while forceful and persuasive, is not an actual terrorist.

Bane laughs, and John wishes the mask were still off. “Naturally. You are required to wear it at all times.”

“And how would you know if I don’t?” John asks. The troubling thing is that it’s not a rhetorical or taunting question.

“It has a GPS sensor that transmits not just location but temperature. If you remove it for more than fifteen minutes, I will be alerted.” Bane sounds so matter of fact John wants to scream.

“So I’m being blackmailed for—” he breaks off before he asks an even stupider question. Of course Bane isn’t just blackmailing him for sex. “Wait a second, you can fuck anyone you want. Why are you _doing_ this?”

“I like your fire, John Blake. Perhaps I want to watch it grow. Perhaps if you chafe under my restraints it will stoke your rage until you crack and shed this persona of hypocritical righteousness. Or perhaps you will find the path of least resistance leads to true wisdom. Who can say? Whatever my end game, the result is the same for you, in the short term. You keep the plug in and the city stays safe. When I come to you, you play along and the city stays safe. You take the plug out and everyone dies. You refuse me and everyone dies.”

John wants to make a joke about the lengths to which the sexually deprived will go, but it’s not remotely funny at the moment. He’s going to be Bane’s sex slave for the foreseeable future, for no reason that makes any sense. He ought to be more upset about it, but all he can really register is anticipation, and fucking hell if that’s not a sad commentary on his sex life.

“Don’t look so morose, Officer Blake. As you’ve already seen, I can be a capable lover. How will this suffice for something to look forward to? The next time I see you, I will tie you up and make you come until you lose your voice from screaming.” 

John swallows convulsively and says, “That sounds awful.”

“You’re a terrible liar, John Robin Blake. I will see you soon. Watch for me.” 

With that, Bane leaves. 

The blue-eyed man returns after John has put on his ratty gear. He zipties his hands behind his back and puts the blindfold back on, leading John out of the room with a gentle hand. Instead of a gang of thugs tugging and pushing him through a maze of tunnels and streets, though, he soon finds himself being herded into a van. He’s deposited unceremoniously outside his apartment building, blindfold off but hands still tied.

The van screeches away, Old Blue-eyes waving sardonically at John as it rounds the corner and out of sight. 

And so begins John’s wait.


End file.
